


interlude - idriss

by petitepeach



Series: maybe it starts now [6]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Purple Prose, idriss's pov of the events of misn, italics are wildin out, lots of feelings, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 16:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21449293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitepeach/pseuds/petitepeach
Summary: Idriss watches them and he thinks,fire, meet gunpowder.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant, Idriss Bakhellal/Original Female Character
Series: maybe it starts now [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1365805
Comments: 38
Kudos: 281





	interlude - idriss

**Author's Note:**

> hi ❤️
> 
> i've had it in my mind for a long time that i wanted to write some of the events from this series in idriss's POV, so here we are
> 
> i hope that you like it!! or at least find it interesting!

It happens on a Saturday.

There's a party being hosted by a friend of Imane’s, and Sofiane wants to go because Imane invited him, so Idriss wants to go because Sofiane is going, and that leads to Idriss busting down Eliott’s bedroom door in the afternoon and demanding he join them too.

_Come out with us, he says. Tonight. You need to get out of this room._

His delivery is flippant but he makes sure he meets Eliott’s eyes, holds his gaze so Eliott knows what he’s really saying.

_I know it’s been hard. I know. But Eli, it’s time you welcomed the world back into your heart._

Eliott blinks at him like a startled deer, a nub of charcoal held tightly between his fingers, bread crumbs on his shirt. He looks fragile, and Idriss hates thinking of him that way, but he knows Eliott is fragile. Just like Sofiane is fragile and Imane is fragile, and all people are, even if we don’t want to see it.

Fragile. Breakable.

Idriss is the one who had to watch Eliott pull himself back together after last year. After a rumour of Eliott’s diagnosis somehow made it’s way around the entire art school and Marianne broke up with him because, _It’s too much, Eliott. I can’t handle this. I can’t take care of you._

Idriss is the one who had to listen to that argument through the thin walls of their apartment, gripping onto the edge of his desk so he wouldn’t fly into Eliott’s room and make Marianne leave before she could say anything else that would splinter Eliott’s heart into pieces. But it’s not his place, and so he listens, and when the front door slams and Marianne’s footsteps disappear down the stairs, Idriss emerges from his bedroom to see Eliott calmly washing a mug at the sink.

_Are you okay?_

_I’m fine._

_Eliott—_

_I don’t know what I expected. This was always what was meant to happen._

It’s really something, how a broken heart can be as infectious as a common cold.

Eliott deletes his Instagram, and he hides himself away.

So, there’s a year. There’s a year of negotiating homework extensions with professors and changing therapists twice and pieces of a heart being mended together with dollar-store glue.

It’s a fragile peace that comes with healing.

There’s a year gone, disappeared from underneath their feet while Eliott was picking up pieces and Idriss and Sofiane followed behind him with gentle reassurance. There’s a year of finding balance in not prying too much but caring just enough. There’s a year of Sofiane’s feel-better cookies and Idriss’s good-morning protein smoothies and nights in on the sofa where they binge entire seasons of terrible television shows and laugh until the sun comes up.

Then it’s spring, it’s the end of term, and there’s a party tonight and there’s Idriss, standing in Eliott’s doorway and he’s telling him. He’s _telling_ him.

_You’re coming with us._

The party is in a house that’s bursting with people and music and alcohol and it’s the best kind of chaos Idriss could have imagined, populated by neon-coloured bodies and pool floaties in the living room and misheard lyrics screamed from wide open mouths.

Imane ditches them for someone she sees in the kitchen, and Idriss peers over her head to see who it is, gaze landing on a girl with long, dark hair, dark eyes, and the prettiest smile Idriss has ever seen.

Imane hugs the girl and Idriss watches as they break apart, the girl offering Imane something from the fridge and he’s realizing this must be her house that he’s in. This girl with the smile that makes his heart feel like a football that’s been drop-kicked clear across a field.

Oh no.

He needs alcohol right now so Idriss gets himself a beer from a cooler on the floor and hands Eliott a can of coke and he’s leaning close to ask, _You good?_ and Eliott nods and smiles and is clapping Idriss on the back, _don’t worry about me, you don’t need to take care of me or anything._

Idriss wants to tell Eliott that’s not what he’s doing. He’s never considered Eliott someone he has to take care of. Eliott is his best friend. And for Idriss, that’s all there is. You do everything for your friends because they’ll do anything for you. To him, that’s how it works, how it’s always worked, even when they were in high school and Eliott kissed him during a manic episode and Idriss had gone home in a rush, head a mess, but he’d been at Eliott’s doorstep the next morning, armed with an apology and a stack of DVD’s after a swift reprimand from his father.

_He is your friend, Idriss. We don’t abandon our friends when we see the ugly sides of them. That’s when they need us the most._

Idriss has never forgotten that.

But he doesn’t want to say any of that here, not now, so he settles on kissing Eliott on the side of his head and quietly saying, _Love you_, and tapping his bottle of beer against Eliott’s soda.

Imane reappears with Manon and they move to the living room and they talk and they drink and they dance and Idriss gives Imane and Sofiane shit for their flirting and Imane gives it right back to him and Eliott is smiling and dancing on the spot and sharing his coke with Manon, who’s laughing at them with her eyes crinkled and it feels good, all of them together. It feels like letting go, like closing your eyes and surrendering yourself to the night. It feels a bit like being alive, Idriss thinks.

Then, there’s someone coming towards them, a body out of orbit, a meteor slamming into their chaotic equilibrium and Idriss catches brown hair, a blue shirt, then it all gets mixed up because the body is colliding with Eliott, and they’re tangled, Eliott’s arms going around their waist to steady them, limbs locked, chests pressed together and for a moment, Idriss can’t tell where Lucas Lallemant begins and Eliott Demaury ends.

It’s strange, to be on the outside of a moment like that, where you can see time itself stop. It’s like watching a movie, maybe, or not at all like that because Idriss can smell the spilt beer and feel the music pounding in his sternum, but there are Lucas and Eliott, and it seems like the universe itself is bending around their shape, curling around the sides of their bodies to let this moment play out away from the rest of the world. They’re clutching at each other, eyes locked, and Idriss can see Eliott’s hands tightening on the back of Lucas’ shirt and he can see Eliott’s smile turning soft, surprised, and Idriss knows that face, but at the same time it’s entirely new to him, and he thinks, _oh, oh Eliott_, at the exact moment Sofiane throws himself into the small universe created between two boys and grabs onto Lucas’ shoulder, shaking him excitedly.

Idriss loves Sofiane with his entire heart, but sometimes he wants to smack him over the head with a printout of the dictionary definition for _tact._

Now Imane is coming over as well, and Sofiane is pulling Lucas into a hug and Eliott is taking a step back and Idriss sighs, stepping in to bump fists with Lucas.

He turns to gesture to Eliott. _This is Eliott. He’s in my year. Art student, so you know, anti-social tendencies._

_Eliott, this is Lucas. He’s a friend of Imane’s._

And that’s it, really. Idriss gives the introductions and his work is done. He watches as Eliott says, _Nice to meet you_, watches as how, even when the rest of Lucas’ gang appears, a veritable tsunami of idiot energy, Eliott and Lucas keep sneaking glances at each other, keep hiding smiles into sips of their drinks.

Idriss watches them and he thinks, _fire, meet gunpowder._

It doesn’t surprise him at all that, an hour later, he can’t find Lucas or Eliott anywhere.

But he does see that girl again. Imane’s friend, striding from the living room to the kitchen and back again, speaking rapidly about a roommate getting ill and swearing in a language he doesn’t know, the words coming out heavy and tired.

He wants to go offer to help. Maybe he can follow her into the kitchen and say, _Hi, I’m Idriss, I’m Imane’s brother and you don’t know me at all but do you need help with anything? Cleaning up? Kicking people out? Just tell me what to do._

But it’s not his place. He sees a few other girls rallying behind her, following her up a staircase an he lets it go. She has help. She has friends. She doesn’t need some guy staring at her across the room and daydreaming about cleaning her kitchen for her.

Idriss stares down at his beer and he realizes he’s at the point of the night where his drunken buzz has turned melancholic. The night is not souring so much as sweetening, it’s sharp edges softened by the pink and peach lights in the living room, by the absence of Eliott and the sight of Sofiane and Imane talking quietly in a corner.

Idriss sighs and polishes off his beer, and thinks about going home to watch Pacific Rim for the five-hundredth time.

His phone buzzes in his hand.

** _i’m at home just so you’re not worried_ **

** _i’m with lucas he’s here don’t make it weird when you come back_ **

** _idriss_ **

** _he’s amazing i think i’m in trouble_ **

Idriss sighs again but he’s smiling, shaking his head while staring down at the screen.

He texts back, _you deserve this_, and tacks on a dozen shooting star emojis.

He puts his phone away and stands there in the living room, an island surrounded by sticky puddles of alcohol and couples making out on inflatable furniture and a swirling sea storm of maybes. Everyone so caught up in maybes on Saturday nights.

Idriss will go home. He’ll gently place his beer bottle in a recycling bin near the kitchen and he’ll wave to Sofiane on his way out, fishing his jacket out from a pile at the entrance and making sure he still has his wallet.

He’ll go home.

But he thinks he’ll stop at the all-night kebab place first.

The next morning Idriss walks in on Eliott and Lucas making out in the kitchen.

Lucas is boosted up on the counter and his legs are wrapped around Eliott’s waist and Idriss is pretty sure he’s wearing one of Eliott’s sweaters.

He gives them shit for it, because they’re in the _kitchen_ for fuck’s sake and because it’s literally his best friend duty to give them shit, especially with how completely blissed-out Eliott looks, swiping a thumb across Lucas’ lips and ghosting a hand across Lucas’ lower back and pulling Lucas close on the sofa, his hands travelling over him restlessly.

And well, yeah. Lucas is really fucking cute. Idriss would be smug too, if he landed someone like that.

But he’s never seen Eliott like this before, in the entire time he’s known him. Not with Marianne, even when it seemed really good between them. Not with Lucille, when they had that whirlwind month together during first year. Not even with Michel, back in high school, who Eliott always claims was his first love.

No, Idriss has never seen Eliott like this. With stars in his eyes and his feet barely touching the ground.

He’s so fucking _happy_. It makes Idriss tear up in the bathroom while he’s washing his hands.

(Which he will never admit to anyone. Ever.)

They go to Imane’s for brunch and he sees Eliott reaching for Lucas’ hand on the walk there, and when they’re sitting at Imane’s table, Idriss’s knees squished up against Sofiane’s, they start talking about Eliott’s art and he sees Lucas reach for Eliott’s leg under the table and Lucas is staring at Eliott with stars in his eyes, too, and they’re right back to creating their own universe, the two of them.

So, there we are.

Lucas and Eliott become _Lucas&Eliott._

It starts to wrong the same moment things start to go right.

Or no, maybe that’s not the way to say it. Idriss knows the universe is not a system of checks and balances, that karma may be real to an extent but sometimes good things happen and sometimes bad things happen and the most frustrating part of living is not being able to predict any of it.

What really happens is, there’s a night where everything shifts.

A house party is as good a place as any for a roll of cosmic dice, and it’s where Idriss finds himself, tipsy and terrible at beer pong and being introduced by Lucas to her.

The girl.

_You know Celine, right? She’s in my program._

Idriss botches it, because of course he does. He’s been drinking cheap beer and his stomach is hollow and he’s having a hard time meeting those dark, sharp eyes.

_I saw you_, he says without meaning to say it and he feels his entire body go slack, desperate to melt into the floor and disappear.

_Excellent, Idriss_, he tells himself. _That’s a nice restraining order coming your way._

He’s flustered and embarrassed and can practically see his heart bleeding on the sleeve of his t-shirt, but somehow, somehow, she smiles at him.

Lucas stumbles away, murmuring something about going to find Eliott with a big, dumb smile on his face and Idriss is panicking at being left alone with her but she’s smiling at him and she’s still talking to him. She asks him what he studies and what his thoughts on boybands are and teases him mercilessly for his attempted recovery of, _You were hosting, so I saw you, like, doing stuff._

Idriss laughs at it, laughs at himself because it really was terrible. He tells her that he remembers hearing her swearing the most, those words that were made of sounds he didn’t know, but were shaped like feelings he was familiar with.

Celine grins at him. In the low light of Arthur’s apartment, she looks like something pulled out of the picture books Idriss used to have as a child. Thick, yellowed pages filled with folklore and fairies.

For all the attempts those stories make to teach valuable lessons to children about trust and danger, they failed with Idriss, because he’s staring at Celine in the middle of a party but he’s thinking that if she asked him to follow her into the deepest part of the forest, he would go without hesitation.

_It was Korean._ She tells him, her fingers dancing across the beer pong table, silver rings flashing. _That’s the language you heard._

She tells him how her mom is from there, how she immigrated to Europe when she was in her twenties and met Celine’s dad, a French musician. She tells Idriss how her mom is perfectly bilingual, just like she is, but hates to speak French because of her accent, because of the inherent otherness that comes with the forming of consonants in the mouth.

Idriss knows all about otherness. He knows about being categorized and judged and dismissed before he even opens his mouth. He knows it painfully well, and he can see that Celine knows he knows it, from the sad, resigned tilt to her mouth, an expression that says, _You can see, can’t you?_

Idriss can. Neither of them have to put it into words.

All he says is, _It sounded really fucking cool. Could you teach me some?_

She does.

He leaves Arthur’s in a daze, drunk and tired and mind-numbingly happy. Celine put her number in his phone, before he left. Just reached into his pocket and took it out, laughing at him when she realized he didn’t have a passcode on it.

_You just want to bare your secrets like that, Idriss?_

He keeps pulling his phone out to check her number is still there. To check that he didn’t imagine the entire thing.

He can’t find Lucas and Eliott anywhere, which really shouldn’t surprise him anymore, so he rounds up Sofiane and makes sure he has enough cash for a kebab, and sets out into the night.

It’s a dream, dream, dream. It’s a chapter from a storybook, but it’s better, because there’s alcohol and kebabs and texting. Idriss can text her. Celine. He hums a few bars from _La Vie en Rose_ while he stumbles down the street, Sofiane trailing behind him with his face buried in his own phone.

The apartment is dark and silent when they enter it, and Idriss assumes Eliott just went to stay with Lucas so he doesn’t worry about making noise, laughing when he trips on his own shoes and still singing to himself. Sofiane turns on the overhead light in the hallway and Idriss chugs three glasses of water at the sink and they go into their rooms, both of them, Idriss obnoxiously crooning _goodnight_ before their doors slam shut.

Inside the apartment, there are three bedrooms.

One has a boy deep in love, his heart steady and warm, falling asleep with his phone loosely held in his hand.

One has a boy on the cliff’s edge of a crush, his heart overfilled with anticipation and trepidation that it’s leaking out onto the bedspread, onto the floor, melting into pale pools of moonlight.

And one, one has boy with blackness spreading through his chest cavity, thick and cloying fear threatening to choke him; sadness that sets in as bone-deep resignation, because this is the way it was always meant to go. He has his headphones on and the volume turned up but there’s nothing louder than the loop playing inside his head, _I can do it, I can, but sometimes it’s so much—_

_____________

Maybe there is no better way to say it.

Just when things start to go right, is when they start to go wrong.

_____________

Idriss doesn’t know how bad it is until Eliott comes home drunk on a Thursday afternoon.

He suspected, before, that there were problems between them, minute fractures that Eliott was attempting to hide from him. He could see it in the way Eliott would dive for his phone whenever it buzzed, but then put it down without responding, leaving it for hours. He could see it in the set of Eliott’s shoulders when Sofiane mentioned Lucas casually in a story about Imane, how Eliott nearly flinched just from hearing Lucas’ name.

He tries to broach it with him gently, asking, _Is everything okay? You can talk to me, Eli_, but all Idriss gets is a bland, flat smile and Eliott’s favourite phrase to throw around when he doesn’t want to be seen.

_It’s fine. Don’t worry._

He’s walling himself up, and Idriss is worried, but he doesn’t realize how worried he should be until it’s not even four in the afternoon and he’s fallen asleep on the couch with his psychology notes and Eliott quite literally falls into the apartment, tripping over his shoe laces and collapsing to the ground.

Idriss laughs at him, at first, because that’s what Eliott would to do him, but then he looks over the back of the sofa and he sees Eliott curl into a ball on the floor, his knees coming up near his chest, his elbows folded around his head.

There’s a feeling inside Idriss like sinking into arctic water.

He gathers Eliott up from the floor, ignoring him when he tries to bat Idriss’s hands away, when he spits out, _I don’t need your help!_ He takes off Eliott’s coat and his shoes and deposits him on his bed and Eliott is yelling at him, still fighting him but Idris manages to get him lying down. He leaves to get a large glass of water and when he returns Eliott is crying, loud, ugly sobs that make his back shudder, ribs prominent even through his dark grey shirt.

Idriss wonders when the last time Eliott ate a proper meal was.

He puts the glass of water on Eliott’s desk and sits down on the floor at the edge of his bed, his back to the mattress so he can hide his face when he says,

_Eliott. Please tell me._

But Eliott doesn’t say anything. His sobs taper off to nothing, and his breath evens out, and Idriss looks over his shoulder to see Eliott has passed out, gripping onto his pillow so tightly it might tear, his face scrunched up like he’s in pain, even in his sleep.

It hurts to look at him.

Idriss runs a hand over Eliott’s hair, flattening it down on the side of his head, and he whispers, _You’re so loved, Eli_, and there’s a part of him that hopes Eliott is faking being asleep so he hears him, and there’s another part that hopes that, if Eliott is asleep, he’ll hear Idriss anyway. Somewhere in his dream those words will find their way to him and shake him until he knows that they’re true.

He closes Eliott’s curtains and shuts the door to his room and he stands in the living room, rubbing his hands over his eyes, and he’s thinking about calling Lucas, asking him what’s going on, but he’s not sure if it’s his place, he’s not sure if that would be crossing a line. He’s not sure if that would make everything worse.

His phone lights up with a text from Celine.

** _hey handsome. there’s this supposedly amazing Korean bbq place that’s opened up down the street from my flat. obvi, i have to go to pass judgement upon them. wanna come?_ **

Idriss is smiling down at the text and he’s rubbing at the centre of his chest absently, his heart throbbing with happiness and sadness, emotions that aren’t battling so much as melting together, until the centre of Idriss is one purpled, murky place.

He sighs, pressing his fingers into his sternum.

_shit, i would love that, you have no idea—but one of my roommates just got home and he’s in really rough shape. i need to be here for him_

He paces into the kitchen, turning on the light over the stove and opening the fridge, peering inside. All that’s there is beer (Idriss’s) and a head of wilted lettuce (Sofiane’s).

He pulls his phone out again to ask Sofiane if he can stop by the market on the corner before he gets home, and there’s another text from Celine waiting for him.

** _ah okay, i understand. i’ll have to introduce you to the wonders of Korean food another time_ **

Before he can reply, there’s another.

** _do you want to get coffee or something in the morning? i’m here if you need someone to talk to_ **

Until now, Idriss hadn’t realized how badly he’d been needing someone to say those words to him. Something dark and tightly coiled inside of him loosens, a knot of barbed wire unspooling into silk.

_yeah_, he replies. _that would be great. thank you._

Sofiane returns home with chicken and rice, but Eliott doesn’t come out of his room for the rest of the night.

_I’m worried_, Idriss tells him. _I don’t know what else to do._

Sofiane smiles sadly, squeezing his shoulder.

_I don’t know if there’s anything we can do, Idriss._

When Idriss steps out of his room in the morning, he’s not expecting to see Lucas.

_Oh_, he says. _Hey._

He looks exhausted. Lucas does. Pale purple shadows underneath his eyes, a grey beanie pulled low over his head, a determined expression pinching at the corners of his mouth.

Sofiane is sending Idriss a look that’s telling him they should leave, now, and Idriss disappears into his room to get his things, and Lucas is telling them they don’t have to go, but the thing is, they really do. They need to leave Lucas and Eliott alone to figure out whatever is happening between them.

And they will. Idriss is sure they will. It won’t be like Marianne or Lucille or Michel because it’s Lucas. It’s Lucas and Eliott, and Idriss doesn’t know a single person who could look at the two of them and not know that they’re made for each other.

(Perhaps he woke up from a text from Celine that morning, a meme that made him laugh for the first time in what felt like days. Perhaps Idriss is feeling a lot more positive today than he was yesterday. Perhaps today, he’s rooting for the power of love.)

So, he and Sofiane leave, and they go to the library’s café together, and Idriss is texting Celine to tell her he’s early and he hears a loud laugh from a corner of the café and a head poking out from an overstuffed arm chair and it turns out she’s early too, and Sofiane grins so widely at Idriss that he has to push his face away with an open palm.

Perhaps today, Idriss is feeling like everything is possible except heartbreak.

(Let the record show: Idriss has been wrong about many things in his life, but he’s never wished he wasn’t wrong more than here, in this very moment.)

They take their coffees to go, ignoring the thick, incoming storm clouds and strolling across campus at a slow, easy pace. Idriss doesn’t tell her everything—he doesn’t tell the private bits, the bits that are up to Eliott to share—but he tells her he thinks Lucas and Eliott are having problems. He tells her he’s worried. He tells her that he feels a bit helpless right now.

Celine rubs a hand down his back, scratches between his shoulder blades through the thick denim of his jacket and Idriss feels himself melt into the touch, his shoulders lowering from up around his ears.

_It seems to me like you’re doing everything you can_, she says quietly. _But I get it. All we ever want to do when we see those we love hurting is take their pain away for ourselves._

_Yeah_, Idriss sighs. _Yeah that’s exactly it._

Celine smiles at him. _You’re so kind, you know that? I didn’t expect it when I first met you._

_What did you expect?_

_Based on what Imane says? Actual Satan._

Idriss bursts into laughter, and fuck, it feels so good to laugh that he keeps going, tilting his head back and baring his teeth and Celine is laughing next to him, knocking her forehead into his bicep and all of it feels so fucking good. Laughing feels a bit like being alive.

But then he hears Celine say, _Wait, there’s Lucas_, and Idriss opens his eyes, and he says _oh fuck_ out loud and Celine shoots him a worried look, and she’s taking off after Lucas at a light jog and Idriss thought Lucas was going to stay at his place at least for a few hours but there he is, walking across campus in a daze, his face ashen and his eyes unfocused on the middle distance.

He looks.

Not human.

Celine catches him and rests and steadying hand on his shoulder and Idriss comes up behind her and he’s trying to meet Lucas’ eyes, trying to get him to look at him, asking, _What happened?_

Lucas says, _It ended_.

And everything goes quiet.

Just for a moment, because before Idriss has a chance to properly process this, before he can wrap his head around an outcome where Lucas and Eliott break up, there’s another voice coming towards them, and of all fucking people it’s Benoît Marchand.

Idriss has had it out for that motherfucker ever since he heard about how horribly he treated Lucas when they were together. And seeing him now, swaggering up to them in the middle of campus wearing a shit-eating grin, hearing him say to Lucas that is what only a matter of time before Eliott dumped him, well. Idriss wants to fucking deck him.

He doesn’t consider himself a violent person, under normal circumstances. He doesn’t like getting into fights. He isn’t big on confrontation. He knows what some people think when they look at him: a big young black guy. He must _love_ getting into fights. But Idriss, just. Doesn’t. He never wants to become the thing they expect him to be.

Benoît Marchand, though. Idriss is yanking him back by his hood and he’s considering, seriously considering one solid punch. Just one.

_Idriss_, a voice says, and it’s Celine, gently tugging at the corner of his mind with a low, worried voice. Idriss releases Marchand and shakes his hand out like asshole-ness is catching. Marchand still tries it, still tries to get the last fucking word in except there’s Lucas, getting into his face and telling him that if Lucas is always meant to be alone, then Marchand definitely is too. But Idriss can’t imagine Lucas being alone. He can’t imagine Eliott ever letting that happen.

Eliott. Fuck.

Idriss orders Marchand to leave and he oozes away like an oil spill and just like that, the fight, the light and life are gone from Lucas and he’s hollow again, a paper-thin boy that blows away in the wind before Idriss can talk to him. He and Celine watch his figure grow smaller and smaller and they try to call after him but Lucas is gone, he’s gone and he said it ended, and god, this isn’t how things were supposed to go.

Celine has a hand on his shoulder and she’s asking if he’s okay, but Idriss feels himself shaking his head, feels his hand gripping tightly onto the coffee cup he forgot he's been holding the entire time.

_What a fucking mess_, he says, and Celine’s forehead leans into his arm and she’s sighing, the hand she has on his shoulder sliding down his back to wrap around his waist. It’s steadying to Idriss, the warm and solid feel of her pressed against him. It centres him. Makes him feel human.

_I seriously never thought they would break up like this_, she says, and she’s staring at spot Lucas vanished from with her eyebrows furrowed. _What happened, do you think?_

Idriss has no idea. Lucas said it ended, but he had been going to see Eliott to fix it. They were going to fix it, whatever was wrong. They were going to make it alright. It was going to be different, this time.

And then, there’s that feeling inside of his again. Like sinking into ice water.

He tells her, _I have to talk to Eliott._

He doesn’t talk to Eliott.

He yells at him.

He’s not proud of it.

But he bursts into the apartment that afternoon and it’s quiet, it seems almost empty but there’s a scratching coming from inside Eliott’s bedroom and Idriss bursts through that door and there he is, sitting at his desk, drawing calmly.

_What happened?_ Idriss asks. _What the fuck happened?_

And Eliott turns around and that’s when Idriss sees that, no, he’s not drawing calmly. His face is grey and there’s tear tracks dried on his cheeks and he looks…

Not human.

_It’s over_, Eliott says, and he’s quiet, so so quiet and his voice is raspy like he’s just left a concert and he can’t meet Idriss’s eyes. He licks his lips and he shrugs, he fucking shrugs, and he says, _It was always what was meant to happen._

That’s when Idriss starts to yell.

Because, no. No. This is not happening again.

He asks Eliott, _What the fuck are you talking about?_ He asks, _You’re in love with him, I know you are, and you’re just going to let him go?_ He asks him, _Why would you do this to him? To yourself? What kind of fucking martyr complex is this?_ He tells him, _You’re throwing away the best thing that’s ever happened to you because you’re scared._

And the entire time, Eliott just takes it. He sits at his desk and flinches whenever Idriss says Lucas’ name and keeps his gaze low and doesn’t say a word. When Idriss is finished when he’s run out of steam and he thinks he may have taken it a bit too far, Eliott just keeps his eyes on the floor, and says,

_You don’t get it. If we…if we stayed together. I’d become a burden to him. I’d hurt him._

_Worse than you’ve already hurt him?_

_Yeah. Worse._

_You don’t know that._

_I do._

_You don’t. Come on, Eliott, you love him. And he loves you._

_Well it doesn’t fucking matter, does it? There’s no going back from this._

Idriss opens his mouth to argue, to tell Eliott that he’s completely and unfairly underestimating Lucas, wants to tell Eliott that he’s loved even when he doesn’t believe he is, but then Eliott, very quietly, is asking him to leave. He’s asking him to leave and his voice is shaking and he’s begging now. He’s begging Idriss to leave him alone.

So, he does.

And it’s like.

Idriss lives with a ghost.

Eliott barely leaves his room. When he does, he’s silent, withdrawn, only responding to questions with nods or grunts. Idriss never sees him eat, so he keeps leaving big bottles of his good-morning protein smoothies outside of his door. They’re being drunk, so that’s a good sign, at least, that’s something Idriss can hold onto when Eliott won’t answer any of his texts and won’t answer when he knocks on his door.

The apartment is haunted by Eliott’s regret.

It leaves the air thin and bitter, makes the shadows on the wall shift restlessly during the night. Sometimes, Idriss gets up in the earliest hours of the morning to piss or get a drink and he thinks he can hear Eliott drawing. He doesn’t know when he sleeps.

He wants to grab Eliott by the shoulders, he wants to tell him that if he regrets it, if he misses Lucas this much, then he needs to go explain everything to him, now. He needs to fight for him. But Idriss also knows this is a lot more complicated that he thinks it is, that Eliott is still dealing with the fallout of his other lost loves, is still struggling to see himself as a person who can be loved all the time, in a way that isn’t conditional.

But _fuck_ if Idriss can stand by and keep watching it.

It’s when he comes home on a Wednesday and sees Eliott on the couch, curled on his side and staring at his phone, that he breaks. Sofiane is in the kitchen, pointing at Eliott and then pointing at an empty take out container on the counter and giving Idriss a thumps up, smiling. _Progress_, Sofiane is saying without saying it. _We’re getting bits of him back_.

Only, when Idriss comes closer to the couch he can see the screen of Eliott’s phone, and he can see that Eliott is swiping through pictures of them together. Him and Lucas. He can see Eliott zoom in on one where Lucas is laughing, stroking the tip of his finger along the curve of his smile.

_You should tell him_, Idriss says, and Eliott startles on the couch, his phone clattering down to the floor. _Tell him that you miss him. Tell him that you regret it._

Eliott’s face is glowing red and he’s retrieving his phone from the floor, slowly setting it down on the coffee table. Idriss expects him to put up a fight. He expects him to ignore him, maybe, or to snap at him that he can’t, that they’ve been through this already. What he’s not expecting is for Eliott to set his feet on the floor, lean his elbows onto his knees and say, _I wrote him a letter_.

Idriss blinks and Sofiane leans out of the kitchen to say he told Eliott to do it, that it’s a good way to get your feelings out and to sort the thoughts in your head and be able to talk without having an audience.

_Okay_, Idriss says, and he raises an eyebrow at Sofiane and Sofiane gives him another thumbs up. _Okay, well that’s good. You can give it to Lucas._

Eliott shakes his head.

Idriss throws his arms out. _Why not?_

Eliott is folded in on himself on the sofa but his voice is firm when he says, _There’s no point. He won’t forgive me and that’s what I wanted. I wanted him to hate me._

Idriss is fairly certain that Lucas could never hate Eliott, and he tries to say this, but there’s Eliott collapsing in on himself again, and he’s rolling off of the couch and disappearing back into his bedroom and he’s mumbling something about going to bed, and Idriss and Sofiane are staring at each other across the living room when his door shuts.

Sofiane is telling Idriss that they can’t push Eliott, that he has to go to Lucas on his own terms, but Idriss is less sure. There’s a letter. Somewhere in this apartment there’s a letter that tells Lucas exactly how Eliott feels. To Idriss, it sounds like he’s standing on the edge of a storming sea, watching a ship trying to find the shore and there, just out of hand’s reach is fuel for the lighthouse.

Some of that, an impression of it, must show on his face because Sofiane sighs, and he throws a dish towel over his shoulder, and he says, _You know what? You may be right._

That’s why, hours later, Idriss is texting Celine in his room.

_if i get it to you tomorrow_, he types out, _can you get it to lucas?_

** _just call me jacques cousteau_ **

_…are you sure that’s the reference you want to be making_

** _he always solves the case in the end, doesn’t he?????_ **

** _i can get it to him fear not_ **

_alright, well i’ll let you know. i’m just a bit. i dunno. i don’t wanna piss him off_

_i don’t know if it’s my place to do this_

** _idriss_ **

** _your place is exactly where you are_ **

** _and anyway haven’t you ever read shakespeare_ **

** _we’re nearing the third act it’s time the side characters interfere with the course of true love_ **

Idriss rolls onto his back, laughing up at his phone.

_you could never be a side character_

** _lmao you’re damn right_ **

** _but to this story, we are_ **

Here’s how it happens.

In the morning Idriss waits for Eliott to head to the bathroom with a towel draped over his arm, and then he sneaks into his room, but he doesn’t have to be in there long because he finds it in the first drawer he opens at Eliott’s desk. A white sheet of paper folded three times. Written across the front: Lucas.

Idriss slides it into his psychology notebook and flees from the apartment.

He passes it along to Celine outside of the building, carefully, reverently, nervously. He doesn’t necessarily like how it feels to be meddling like this, throwing himself into Eliott’s love life and taking away some of his control. He doesn’t like lying to Eliott but he does like the idea of Lucas reading this letter. He likes the idea of having Lucas come over to the apartment again, hearing him and Eliott laughing from inside of Eliott’s room.

And the way Celine smiles at him when he hands it to her, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek and whispering _for true love!_ into his ear before dashing off.

He likes that a lot.

He gets home and he doesn’t tell Eliott about the letter, not right away. He’d rather wait to see how Lucas reacts, whether he reaches out to Eliott or not before he broaches the subject.

Because as much as Idriss has been talking about Lucas never being able to hate Eliott, about Lucas and Eliott being made for each other, about true love and lighthouses in storms, he knows there is the possibility that this won’t change anything. Idriss didn’t read the letter, because that’s too private, but he’s wondering. He’s wondering if Lucas will read it and get angry. He’s wondering if Lucas will read it and think nothing at all.

It weighs on his mind enough that Celine pokes him in the forehead with a chopstick, tells him to stop thinking and start eating.

_We’ve meddled_, she says, taking a sip of her beer. _It’s up to them now._

Idriss nods because she’s right, and he knows he’s getting too invested, too involved but this is what he’s always been like, even when he was pissed off that Sofiane was making eyes at his younger sister, he still wanted him to be happy. Even if it meant backing off from his protective big brother role, which Imane already gave him endless shit about.

He just. He wants his friends to be happy. He wants his friends to be loved.

He says all of this to Celine while wrestling a piece of spicy pork off of the grill so he misses the look she sends him across the table, but he hears her sigh, then laugh, then swear softly.

He glances up, still chewing, and she has her chin resting on her hand, and she’s grinning at him, and Idriss remembers when he first saw her smile, at that party back in the spring, and how his heart had felt like an inflatable ball being kicked then and now felt like a hot air balloon. Instead of being weighed down, he’s flying. He’s weightless.

(Whatever. Idriss doesn’t actually live inside of Shakespearean play.)

But he is sitting at the window table in a Korean barbecue restaurant and he’s across from the most beautiful girl he thinks he’s ever seen, and she’s smiling the same way she was smiling when he first saw her but now she’s smiling at _him—_

She gently kicks at his shin. _It’s so weird to me that you can be really adorable and really sexy at the same time._

Idriss chokes on his last bite of pork.

Celine’s grin widens. _I would invite you back to my apartment but my roommate’s parents are staying with us right now_. She wrinkles her nose. _They’re really traditional._

Idriss coughs into his fist and takes a sip of beer and sits up straighter in his chair, because this is it. This is what they talk about when they talk about turning points.

_My place isn’t too far_, he says. _And my roommates…I mean, you know them. At least, they won’t mind_. And it’s true, they won’t mind, even with Eliott nursing his broken heart and Sofiane slightly dubious about the “letter plan”, as they were calling it. It’s one of those unspoken rules in the flat, like buying new toilet paper when you finish the last roll or how the only music you’re allowed to blast after midnight is Enya or Sade.

Celine kicks at his shin again. Her eyes are dark and warm in the low light of the restaurant. So, so warm. _Well_, she says. _That’s good to know._

They’re quiet when they enter the apartment, communicating through raised eyebrows and pointing fingers, leaving their coats and shoes in the hall and tiptoeing to Idriss’s room. Celine is startled when she bumps into a lamp and they giggle like teenagers, smothering their laughter into their hands and desperately trying to shush one another when there’s really no reason to.

Idriss shuts his door behind them and he locks it and everything feels a bit different with that sound, the defining click of it, the implicit meaning behind it. He’s nervous now that they’re alone, now that Celine is in his apartment and in his room and he turns around slowly and she’s sitting down on his bed, fanning her hands across his duvet.

_Comfy_, she says.

Idriss gulps. _You can sleep over, if you want. We can get breakfast in the morning._

There’s the smile that turns his heart a balloon filled with air. _That would be lovely, but for now…_ She tugs off her wool socks one at a time and throws them at him, laughing. _You should probably come over here._

Of course, he goes.

There’s something buzzing.

Idriss wakes up in increments, first aware of the annoying sound coming from somewhere in the flat, then aware of how warm he is, covered by his blankets and a stray beam of sun catching on his bare shoulder and an arm wrapped round his waist, a body pressed up against his back, soft breaths in his ear.

He takes a moment to bask in it, in feeling so warm, so comfortable, but there’s the buzzing again and he realizes it’s someone calling up to the apartment and he groans, burying his face into his pillow.

The arm around his waist tightens. There’s a responding hum, and a soft kiss pressed to the back of his shoulder. _Idriss. That buzzing is driving me fucking nuts please answer it._

Idriss groans and he rolls out of bed, thinking Sofiane must have never come home, because ehe’s usually the one who gets to the door first. He’s tugging a pair of sweatpants up his legs and stumbling out of his room to the door like he’s been pulled from a dream, and at first when he presses down on the button it takes him a moment to recognize the voice speaking to him, to connect it to the words _It’s Lucas_ and to remember what that means.

Oh.

Oh fuck _yes_.

He buzzes Lucas up and he props the door open and he sprints back into his bedroom, flinging the door open and picking a stray pillow off of the ground, throwing it at Celine, who rolled over and fell back asleep.

She grunts when it hits her, knocking it back onto the ground.

Idriss picks up her discarded sweater, and throws that.

It lands on her head and she swears, batting it away and sitting up, staring blearily at Idriss.

_Operation letter plan!_ Idriss hisses, switching his sweatpants out for clean boxers and a pair of jeans. _It’s fucking happening! Lucas is here! He’s coming up the stairs!_

Celine blinks at him, then she swears again and she’s flinging the covers off, diving down to the floor for her own clothes. Idriss sprints back out of his room with his jeans still undone, making a beeline for Eliott’s room when he sees Eliott is already awake, standing in the kitchen and wrestling with the shitty coffee maker they found on the curb weeks ago. The bags under his eyes are deep and dark, and when Idriss skids to a stop in front of the kitchen, he glances up like he’s barely registering his presence.

_He’s here_, Idriss says, and he can something shift in Eliott’s expression, a wariness touching the corners of his eyes. When he clarifies, when he says _Lucas_, Eliott’s hand slips on the coffee maker and it topples over onto the counter, the sound equivalent to a trainwreck in their quiet kitchen.

It’s not how Idriss would have wanted to tell him but he can feel the seconds ticking by and he doesn’t want Eliott to fly blind here, so he tells him. He tells Eliott that Lucas has his letter because Idriss stole it and gave it to him, because Idriss thinks they can work it out, they really can, if they just try. As long as Eliott tries to be honest and tries to trust Lucas. Tries to trust himself.

Slowly, so slowly, Eliott stands the coffee maker back up. He’s shaking, Idriss realizes, small tremors travelling from his forearms to the tips of his fingers.

_Are you sure he’s read it?_ Eliott asks, and that wasn’t what Idriss thought he would say but he nods, he tells him that Lucas definitely got the letter and now he’s here, right? He’s coming up the stairs so that means he must have—

_It doesn’t mean he’s read it_, Eliott says, and he’s starting to sound panicked now, his voice matching the tremors in his hands. _Maybe he’s just here to yell at me, maybe he has stuff he wants to return, maybe he wants his own stuff back_. Eliott tugs at the burgundy t-shirt he’s wearing and he looks terrified. _It doesn’t mean he’s read it_, he says and his eyes are wide when they rise to the front door, _Idriss what the fuck, what fuck am I going to do, this is—_

That’s when Celine comes out of Idriss’s room, her hair tied back into a messy bun that already has pieces spilling out, her sweater on inside out, and a big grin on her face.

_Eliott_, she says warmly. _It will all be okay, I know it._

Eliott looks seconds away from flinging himself out of the kitchen window and Idriss is placing a reassuring hand on his arm and he squeezes once, says, _It will be_, and there’s the sound of the front door creaking open and Celine sits down on the arm of the sofa, and Eliott’s nerves might be catching because Idriss doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he crosses them over his chest and he’s saying, _You can come in, Lucas._

And just like that he’s in their apartment. He looks just as tired as Eliott and his jacket is hanging off his shoulders and Idriss is so damn happy to see him he might cry.

At first he stares at Idriss and Celine in confusion but then Eliott comes out of the kitchen and Idriss can see the letter in Lucas’ hand and he’s holding it up, the proverbial white flag, and just from the way he says it, _I got your letter_, Idriss knows that he loves Eliott.

Just from the way Eliott says, _You read it?_ so surprised, so scared and hopeful, Idriss knows that he loves Lucas.

And that’s the only fucking thing that matters, if you ask Idriss, so he glances at Celine and she’s raising an eyebrow back at him and they make their exit, as clumsily and quickly as a circus troupe and they’re shutting the door behind themselves and Celine is gripping onto his arm and whispering furiously into his ear about _the third act_ and _deus ex machina_ and _Those fucking idiots they’re so in love I can’t stand them. God, they make me so happy._

It’s bright and crisp outside, the sun melting the frost from the night before, washing everything in pale yellow. They stop just outside of the apartment building and Idriss takes a deep breath, letting the autumn air fill his lungs, letting his hot air balloon heart soar in his chest and then he’s exhaling, and it’s all a good reminder that he’s alive, that he’s a living breathing person but it also centres him, and he’s reaching for Celine’s hand, looking for more of that stability and she’s grinning up at him, blinking against the light.

_We_, she says, tapping a finger to Idriss’s nose, _are the only love gods._

From the way her mouth forms the words Idriss knows she’s quoting something, and he thinks it’s probably Shakespeare and he’s laughing, leaning down to press his forehead to hers and then they’re kissing out of the street, Celine dropping his hand to wrap her arms around his neck, both of them smiling into it.

_Come on_, Celine says, pulling away to meet his eyes. _I think you said something about breakfast last night, and I’m fucking starving._

Idriss nods, _alright let’s go_, and he’s wrapping an arm around her shoulders and she’s holding him around his back and they set off down the street together, Idriss swearing up and down that the café around the corner has the best pastries in town.

So, the only love gods in Paris disappear down a side street in search of coffee and carbs, and back inside, upstairs, there are pieces of broken hearts being picked off the floor, mended together with gentle words and gentle touches. There’s a tear being wiped from a cheek and a face being pressed into the crook of a neck and maybe Saturday nights aren’t the only time to get caught up in maybes. There’s something to be said for Friday mornings, for this Friday morning in particular, when a maybe isn’t so much a start but a continuation. A picking up where you left off, being able to find your page in your book without having to fold the corner down.

It’s arms wrapped tightly and eyes meeting and an _Alright, let’s go._

_Let’s keep going._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading ❤️ je t'aime 🌹
> 
> you can come find on tumblr anytime to yell or cry or talk about true love, or do all of those things at once
> 
> [@lepetitepeach](https://lepetitepeach.tumblr.com)


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